


Legs All The Way Up To Luna II

by goresque



Series: Taken In Hand [7]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Dirty Talk, Face-Sitting, Felching, Humiliation, Oral Sex, Other, Size Kink, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26163865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goresque/pseuds/goresque
Summary: Tailgate indulges Thunderclash.
Relationships: Thunderclash/Tailgate
Series: Taken In Hand [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571881
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39





	Legs All The Way Up To Luna II

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cheshire_Hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheshire_Hearts/gifts).



> A present for my amazing friend and beta reader @cheshire_hearts! They wanted Tailgate dominating Thunderclash with some humiliation. Thank you Whirl for always putting up w my shenanigans 💕

Were he a mech with a harder spark Thunderclash might have balked at the position he found himself in.

When he’d walked into  _ Visages _ he hadn’t had a goal in mind. It had been a bid for relief, something to soothe the itch in his processor. He hadn’t really intended to take anyone home to his berth- maybe playful banter with someone, perhaps let some pretty thing string him up and whip him. His own sexual gratification hadn’t been on his radar at all.

Regardless of how, he had ended up with Tailgate, of all mechs, seated atop his face. Of all the bots he could have putting him in his place he certainly hadn’t considered Tailgate.

“Yeah yeah yeah!” Tailgate exclaimed, grinding his valve down on Thunderclash’s open mouth. He had two hands gripping the larger mech’s helm crest, slick and brightly glowing anterior node pushing heavy on Thunderclash’s olfactory ridge. His servos were wet with condensation and lubricant, sticky and hot. “You’re such a filthy pathetic bot, ugh, yes, yes, yes, yes!”

Thunderclash tongued Tailgate deeper, spreading him open with his glossa. All he could smell was lubricant; oily and sweet like antifreeze. His servos lay at his sides in fists, his thighs pressing together for any amount of friction on his closed panel. Thunderclash felt ruined just by Tailgate’s demanding servos. The way Tailgate shrieked and screamed his pleasure did  _ things _ to his internals and Thunderclash still couldn’t understand what.

“Make me cum! That’s an order!” As he cried out his words Tailgate’s vocalizer tripped into strings of binary. His thighs squeezed around Thunderclash’s audials so tight there was a moment Thunderclash thought he could hear his helm creaking.

Refusing to disappoint, Thunderclash wedged his intake into Tailgate’s drooling channel, glossa pressing up and then forward as he sucked. He had Tailgate’s node grinding along the bridge of his nose as the minibot humped his face to completion. Tailgate cried out, frame stiffening on top of Thunderclash. A gush of fluid spilled across the larger mech’s faceplate, trickling down into the seams of his neck and making him even more of a sticky, wet mess.

Tailgate flopped back on top of his partner, his legs going lax over Thunderclash’s pauldrons. Thunderclash could hear the tiny dents along the side of his helm pop back into place from where his small dominant had him held between his thighs.

“Wow,” Tailgate groaned, breathless and panting as tiny tremors traveled through his armor. “That was so good…”

Thunderclash wondered if that would be the end for them, with the way Tailgate sounded: dazed and raspy. But, as he was about to sit up the minibot seemed to regain himself and shot back up to attention.

“I mean- I’m not done with you yet!” Tailgate scooted down Thunderclash’s chest, smearing lubricant down his insignia. “Open your panel and give- give me your spike, you pathetic drone!”

Thunderclash didn’t bring attention to the way Tailgate’s voice hitched, his panel springing open and his spike pressurizing right up against Tailgate’s aft. He moaned, pulling his servos up and behind his helm to keep them off of his partner’s frame; Tailgate had said no touching.

“Mmm, yeah…” Tailgate’s servos took hold of Thunderclash’s rigid spike after he’d seated himself behind it, fingers tracing the whorls along the base. As he pumped the head with both hands, Tailgate tilted his hips forward to grind the glistening lips of his valve against the underside of Thunderclash’s aching cord. “Even though all you did was lay there and make me do all the work… I guess I’ll take pity on you. Your gross spike is gonna make me feel really good.”

Thunderclash couldn’t help the involuntary twitch of his hips, making Tailgate yelp as the base of his spike pushed up against the minibot’s anterior node cluster. Tailgate’s legs shook at the same time as his optics flickering.

“Hng… wow…” Tailgate murmured, sounding far removed from his body. He seemed to recall himself all at once as he lurched forward, hands catching himself on Thunderclash’s chest. Thunderclash could hear the rattle of Tailgate’s engine above the rush of energon in his audials, the vibrations of it echoing against his spike. 

Before he could ask if Tailgate would need any assistance the minibot hiked up his hips and pressed the tip of Thunderclash’s spike into his lax valve, gawping and hungry from his earlier overload. 

“Please,” Thunderclash begged, hips jerking as Tailgate’s valve swallowed him.

“Disgusting, filthy, bet you really wanted this, hunh? ‘Cause you’re so desperate to fuck any valve… Who knew the cool, amazing Thunderclash was such a sleazy bot?” Tailgate moaned as he slid down the thick spike, visor flickering again as he fucked himself deeper. Every inch that he enveloped came out wet and shining on his next lift. 

The next thing Thunderclash knew he had one of Tailgate’s pedes pressing against his chest, pushing him down as the minibot used him as leverage to bounce on his cock. Tailgate’s words were a blur of nasty words and heavy mewls. It left Thunderclash desperate for more, but refusing to disobey the orders he had been given, and that was to  _ ‘lay back and be useful.’ _

“You’d better overload!” Tailgate exclaimed, looking hazy behind his visor. He was still rolling on top of Thunderclash’s cord, hips no longer rising or dropping in a heavy rhythm but grinding his anterior node down against the larger mech’s pelvis. Tailgate whined as he used one servo to steady himself and another to rub his node cluster with furious intent. 

Being ordered was better than being given permission. Thunderclash pumped his hips up a few times before his breakers tripped and he bellowed out his overload, thanks and pleas echoing around them. His expulsed charge traveled through his transfluid into Tailgate’s sopping valve. The charge pushed the minibot over the edge, head over heels into his orgasm. The electrical current cycled between their arrays before grounding out, leaving them both pleasantly numb. 

This time Tailgate fell forward, laying himself flat against Thunderclash’s chassis completely breathless. His small engine was whining from the stress, fans spinning on their highest setting. Thunderclash admired the fucked-out, faraway glint in his visor. 

“Wow,” Tailgate sighed, his frame going entirely limp. “That was amazing… whoa… I can’t feel my legs.”

“Do you need anything?” Thunderclash asked, though he was certain that Tailgate wasn’t about to let him move.

“Yeah…” Tailgate rolled off of Thunderclash’s frame, spreading himself out on the berth. “You can come clean up your mess.”

Thunderclash watched as Tailgate spread the lips of his valve, showcasing the streams of silvery fluids trickling out of his well-stretched valve. It should have been obscene; it only made Thunderclash thirsty for more.

Thunderclash nearly dove between Tailgate’s thighs. He lapped at the minibot’s gaping valve, sucking the swollen pleats into his intake. Every taste of himself mixed with Tailgate’s lubricants had him licking harder, deeper, desperate for every last drop.

Tailgate squealed with his next overload, another wave of fluids gushing over Thunderclash’s faceplate. He stroked his glossa over the minibot’s valve, purring at the taste. 

“Thank you for indulging me,” he said, thumb drifting to circle Tailgate’s anterior nodes, looking up with hopeful red optics.

Instead of encouraging him more, Tailgate merely kicked his hand away with a groan. No more, then. “Yeah…” he mumbled, looking rather out of it. “No problem… wow. Wanna do this again sometime?”

As he unsubspaced a cloth to aid in cleanup, Thunderclash couldn’t help but smile wide.

“It would be my pleasure.”


End file.
